Fear the Root Beer
by Fanficworm
Summary: Kids will believe ANYTHING their friends say sometimes, and sevenyearold Terry Kenyon is no exception.


**Disclaimer**: I wish I owned Checkmate and some of the others, but nay, it can never be so… Ultimate Muscle belongs to its rightful owner/s, unfortunately, and so will never be mine. On the other hand, Nick is mine!

**Author's note**:  I got this idea when Terry and Jaeger had their tag-team match with Dazzling and The Protector. Terry was so scared of becoming root beer! I just wondered **why**, and then a dang plot horse attacked, resulting in this…

Fear the Root Beer By Fanficworm 

The day went by well for Terry Kenyon, **much** better than usual to the young seven-year-old, actually. First, his daddy came home (bearing presents) after all those months fighting in the Muscle League, and then Terry scored some baseball cards off some of his friends in an arm wrestling competition, but not before he received a sticker for making a good drawing of his daddy wrestling.

Yep. It was a good day, although the swarm of classmates asking him questions about his daddy, Terryman Kenyon, coming home spoilt it a little. Too many questions like "does he really look like he does on TV" and so on became a little too much for him. Luckily, his teacher saved him before the crowd completely smothered him with unwanted attention. Compared to the rest of the day, that incident was just a little glitch, and not much to worry about.

Still, he couldn't be too careful…

The young lad clutched the brown paper bag containing his lunch, furtively sneaking out from the classroom to outside, skilfully sneaking past the swings, teeter-totter, slide, and the rest of the playground until he reached his intended destination: the old tree. The old tree proved time after time it was a perfect place to hide, away from the eyes of his classmates, but still under the supervision of his teacher. 

He grinned. No one would even **think** of reaching him there. They were all busy searching for him in the playground.

"Peace at last," sighed, leaning against the tree in content. He closed his eyes for just a moment, taking in the sweet sound of silence, and then opened them again, reaching for his lunch. After all, all that sneaking could make a little boy hungry.

He could tell just by feeling the lumps in the bag that he was going to have his usual: a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and some orange juice. He smirked. Little did his mother know he sneaked in a can of root beer from the fridge into the little bag also.

Terry opened the can, smelling the aroma of root beer, a new, welcome scent to him, having first tasted root beer just that morning when his daddy let him finish the rest of his can. Terry slowly took a sip and savoured the taste before swallowing. This was definitely the best drink he'd ever tasted. "Mmm…"

"Howdy, Terry! I thought you'd be hidin' here!"

Terry jumped up in surprise, almost spilling the precious root beer. He set it on the soft green grass and looked up to see who greeted him: a short, brown-haired fellow Texan boy, but in Northern clothes and with a small, metal lunchbox in tow. Terry smiled in relief and raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Nick."

Nick plopped himself down next to Terry and shot him a smirk. "Heard your daddy came home today."

Terry rolled his eyes at the sarcastic comment. "Course you heard. _Everyone's_ heard. That sorta news spreads like wildfire, 'specially since daddy's a cele—cele—err… famous person these parts." He removed his sandwich from the paper bag and took a bite. Peanut butter again, to his disappointment.

Nick opened his lunchbox and winced at **his** usual: a soggy tomato sandwich and some water. "Not just these here parts, Terry." He grimaced as he picked up the sandwich. "He's a famous person 'round the world." Nick looked over at Terry's lunch, his brown eyes resting on the can of root beer. "What's that you got there?"

Terry swallowed and smiled as he regarded the can of the heavenly stuff. "This here," he raised the can like an infomercial host, "is root beer. My daddy let me have it, and it tastes real good." Something felt off about Nick, though. Nick's facial expression changed from cool to horrified at the mention of root beer. "What? What's wrong?"

Nick's eyes widened. His mouth opened a bit as he gasped. He trembled slightly. "T—T—Terry… you _drank_ it?"

Terry guffawed and took a bite of the uninteresting peanut butter sandwich. "Yeah, that's what it's for, Nick." He chewed a bit and swallowed, then washed it all down with the root beer. "What's wrong with that? You look as scared as a turkey before Thanksgivin'."

"D—Don't you know what root beer is made of?"

Well, **that** caught him off-guard. Terry diverted his gaze, his deep blue eyes facing the sky, and he scratched his short blond hair at the strange question. He never thought of that… all that mattered to him was the root beer tasted good. What **was** root beer made of, anyway? Hold on… it was **root** beer, so… "Uh… roots?"

Nick moved in closer, still trembling. "Not just any roots. They're made from the roots of special trees that grow up north where my ma comes from. My brother told me."

Terry blinked. "So? The north ain't too scary. All y'all are still alive, right?

"Terry, these trees I'm talkin' 'bout are _different_ from the normal trees here." Nick gestured to the old tree they sat under. "They're 'bout ten times bigger 'an this here one, with _huge_ roots, and they grow in real large forests."

Terry took a bite of his sandwich again. When was he going to get to the point? "So?"

"Let me finish!" Nick tentatively took a sip of his water. "At night, these special trees come to life, and their roots come out of the ground, _searchin'_ for stuff to eat." He shuddered. "They eat _everythin'_ they can get their hands—err… _roots—_on,  Terry, everythin' that _moves_."

Terry swallowed, having a **very** bad feeling about where they conversation was headed. Suddenly, the root beer didn't have its heavenly glow anymore…

Nick continued. "Loads of people got lost there, especially at night. They were always last seen in that forest, and never seen again."

Terry's face blanched. The remainder of his sandwich fell to the ground. The only sounds a body could hear were in the playground, none from the two boys, at least not for a few seconds. "So.. that means…"

"Uh-huh."

"I've been drinkin'…"

"Uh-huh."

"I've been drinkin'…"

"Uh-huh."

"I'VE BEEN DRINKIN' **PEOPLE**!"

***

"… and that's how your ma and I met," Terryman finished, closing the book. Terry smirked, knowing his daddy was only **pretending** to know how to read. How else could he tell a story about twenty minutes long just by reading two pages? Besides, that book was called a _dictionary_, or something like that, and it was filled with long words.

Oh, well. He didn't have any complaints. That dictionary stuff wouldn't make a good bedtime story, anyway. Terry yawned. "That was a good story."

"I thought you'd like it." Terry felt his daddy lift him from his lap and place him on his bed. "Now, you'd best go to sleep now, Junior. It's past your bedtime."

Terry nodded, snuggling under his blanket. "All right. G'night, Pappy."

"Night, son." Terryman ruffled Terry's hair and rose from the bedside. It felt good having his daddy back to "read" him stories at night. At least it took his mind off the roots… 

The _roots_…

Terry's gaze darted from his doorway to his bedroom window, suspiciously eyeing the tree outside. He whimpered. "Daddy…" 

"Yeah?"

Terry pulled his blanket up to his chin, trying his hardest not to look at the tree. "Daddy, is root beer made from people?"

His daddy furrowed his eyebrows, smiling lopsidedly. "From people? Now where'd you get a crazy idea like that?"

"From Nick."

Terryman sat back down at the wooden chair at Terry's bedside, still wearing that lopsided smile. "Son, you oughtn't believe _everythin'_ your friends say."

"But—But he was right 'bout the pigs, Daddy! He was right about pork comin' from pigs!" Terry protested. Really, if Nick was right about pork coming from pigs, he just **had** to be right about root beer coming from people!

Then again, Terry hoped not.

But his daddy guffawed, to Terry's dismay. "That's on account of he's from a pig farm. It don't mean root beer comes from people."

Terry frowned. "Then where _does_ root beer come from, Pappy?"

Well, **that** caught his daddy off-guard. Terryman diverted his gaze, his deep blue eyes facing the ceiling, and he scratched his full head of short blond hair at the strange question. "Uh… roots?"

Terry faced his window again, eyeing the tree once more, and watching its branches sway back and forth in the night wind, seemingly towards him. "Roots from trees that eat people."

The tree seemed to grow larger, so much so that Terry could only see its base from his window. Its buttress roots detached themselves from the ground, inching towards his window… inching through his room… inching towards his bed…

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his frightening reverie, also causing him to shriek out in surprise. He snapped his head around to the direction of the pressure, relieved to see his daddy there, smiling gently at him.

"Now lookie here, son," he soothed, "I don't know where root beer comes from, but it sure ain't people." He squeezed Terry's shoulder and walked towards the door. "So don't you worry none 'bout it, okay?"

Terry forced himself to smile, even though his daddy wasn't too convincing. "Okay."

And so Terryman left the room. Terry switched off his lamp and curled up in a foetal position, looking at the tree outside, imagining what it might do to him were it one of the trees up north that Nick mentioned. He couldn't help staring at it, but he did until he nodded off to sleep.

It was the first of a long string of nights he'd have nightmares about the roots.

***

"Howdy, Terry! Still hidin' there?" Nick called (to some disdain on Terry's part), sauntering towards the old tree, carrying his metal lunchbox. 

Terry raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Nick." He squinted slightly to see the handle had broken off. Figures. Nick never took care of his lunchboxes proper. Terry took a bite out of his sandwich—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich this time—and watched as Nick plopped down next to him.

Nick cocked his head. "You look like you ain't never had a peanut butter sandwich the way you're smilin'. Ain't that your usual?"

Terry swallowed. "Well yeah, but this here is peanut butter and _jelly_." He took another bite. Suddenly, a growing urge to run away and never look back rose in Terry as he watched Nick's expression change from questioning to horrified. All the signs of horrification were there: widened eyes, pale face, opened mouth, gasping, slight trembling…

Uh-oh. Terry fervently wished he had _never_ mentioned the jelly. He braced himself…

"D—Don't you know where jelly comes from?"


End file.
